Alone in the Dark
by MissJaneDoe01
Summary: A drunk and a druggie by age 14, Taylor's lived through a lot of messed up stuff in her short time on earth. When her broken family moves to Santa Carla, the rehabilitated girl believes it to be a second chance. But when she meets the town's infamous gang of teenage bikers, whose to say the Devil isn't calling her card in early? OFC
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first Lost Boy fanfiction! After reading so many great stories, I decided I wanted to make my own. This chapter is more of a introductory chapter, where you find out who my character is, where she's coming from and so on...**

**So, even though I'm pretty young, I'm obsessed with 60's-90's culture, so there will be a lot of older music, TV shows, and movie references in this story.**

**Also, there's not really a set timeline when this is taking place. If you want to say it's in the 80's that's fine by me, but there might be references to more modern technology, or music that came out in the 90's.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Lost Boys or any other character from the movie. The only characters I own are Taylor and Roman.**

**Thanks for reading!**

_-She couldn't believe this was happening. Leaving her life behind for a fresh start in old sunny Santa Carla, California. A blessing and a curse. Leaving the people she'd known all her life, her boyfriend and friends, the ones she grew up with, the ones who helped her start her addictions, but the people who knew her, nonetheless. On the bright side, she could start over, in this place where no one knew about her past problems, where she could blend in and lead a normal teenage life. Oh, how wrong she was.-_

Taylor sat in the driver's seat of her '79 Ford Bronco, steadily driving through California's winding mountainous roads. She was headed for the other side where her grandfather lived. Her younger brother Sam sat in the passenger seat, fiddling absently with the radio. Taylor let a sigh go, annoyed with Sam for his lack of taste in music, and anxious to get out of the truck to stretch her legs. She worried at the small stud that went through the right side of her lower lip with her teeth. She finally had enough, and put a stop to Sam's meddling fingers, lightly pushing his hand away. She began flipping through the stations herself, before deciding on a Pink Floyd song.

Looking in the rear view mirror to check the trailer holding a small amount of their belongings again, Taylor pressed down on the gas to get the sputtering truck over a particularly steep hill. She looked ahead at the back of her mother Lucy's ancient Jeep and peered inside. Taylor's older brother Michael was staring out the window, silent, while no doubt her mother tried to make awkward conversation. Her baby brother, Roman, was asleep in his car seat. She thanked whatever higher powers there were that she wasn't in that car.

Sam let out his own sigh, and Taylor peered over at him. "Everything okay, Sammy?" she asked, eyes trained on the road in front of her, already knowing the answer.

"I don't know, Taylor. I'm not sure about this move. I mean, it was fun when we were kids visiting grandpa, but what if no one likes us here? Why couldn't mom and dad just work out their differences? We could've stayed in Georgia, where our friends are...," he said quietly. She had to admit she had her own doubts about the place, but they had no choice.

Taylor took a deep breath and began, "You know they couldn't work things out. Mom would've been miserable, thinking she wasn't good enough. Though, she is. Too good for that miserable bastard, in fact."

"Taylor! How could you even say that about da-"

"Don't even pretend that he isn't, Sam. He cheated on mom for years, and then left us for his secretary."

He didn't have anything to say to that.

She focusing on the road, she fumbled to grasp his hand reassuringly, "Sam, this can be good for us. You just have to make it good. You'll make new friends, maybe meet a nice boy or girl. Everything will be fine. I promise."

He let out one more sigh before murmuring a small agreement and staring out the window.

Another hour had passed, and her lovable, hyper-active baby brother was back. They stopped to fill up the truck and to grab something to eat, and before they knew it, they were back on the road, singing out of tune with the Ramones and watching the scenery pass them by.

"...rock, rock! Rockaway Beach! We can hitch a ride to Rockaway Beach!...," they sang, until Sam turned down the radio.

"What'd you do that for?" she asked, slightly annoyed that he interrupted her rockin' out. "That was a great song-"

"We're here!" he said. They looked ahead and saw the large sign for Santa Carla coming into view. Taylor slowed the truck so they could get a better look around. The small town by the ocean was visible coming down from the mountains, and looked beautiful. The boardwalk was easily spotted, along with the amusement park. The giant ferris wheel didn't have its lights on yet, but people were still riding. The roller coaster wasn't open yet. It looked just as magnificent as it did when they were just little kids.

Except this time, it was a darker. When they were young, they focused on the lights and sounds of the boardwalk. They never let go of mommy's loving and protecting hand. Their eyes never strayed to the dark alleyways where hungry people dug through the dumpsters for food. They never stayed out after dark for long, their parents never letting the runaways and homeless that came out to beg catch their attention. But Taylor did watch the people with beautifully colored and styled hair, the ones with intricate ink adorning their bodies, the ones who knew the darker side of life but managed to escape. Michael scowled at them for their individuality, while she basked in the glory of it all. But she never dared join them. She was much too young, too watched over, but she yearned to know what they knew. Even as a child Taylor wanted to experience life to the fullest. She was still young, almost 6 months shy of 17, but now she was old enough to know. She went through it, voluntarily. She went through the addictions. She got in trouble. She strayed from a good life, a life her mother had wanted for her only daughter, for a life of bottles, pipes, lighters, and needles. Taylor could blame it all on herself, but that wouldn't be fair to her. She wasn't the only one. She wouldn't have drank that first drop if daddy dearest hadn't offered in hopes of getting something from his baby girl that he wasn't getting from his wife. She wouldn't have smoked that first joint if that boy (whom she thought she was going to be with forever) hadn't suggested it. She never would have even thought of snorting that first line if her friends hadn't promised that she would be okay. Or maybe she would have. Either way, Taylor was different now. And so was this town. She could see, and understand, the darker side now.

Taylor came out of her own self reflection just as they were passing the sign, and they snuck one last quick glance back at it as it passed. 'Murder Capital of the World' was scrawled on the back with black spray paint. She could hear Sam gulp. "Do you think that's true, Taylor?" he said, nervously, biting his lip.

Taylor gave him a soft chuckle, amused at him. Sam was not normally timid. He was an eccentric boy of 14. A social butterfly with sandy hair and dark crystal blue eyes, and a body he'd barely grown into. He was also bisexual; a fact their father and older brother both resented. When he finally had the courage to come out, Taylor was just about reaching the same conclusion of herself. But when their father scorned him, and Michael turned his back, she realized she didn't want anybody else to know just yet. Their mother and Taylor supported him. And here they were now, moving across the country to stay with their grandfather after their mother had found out that their father had been cheating on her for years. Sam was scared, as Taylor had been then, and so she told him what he wanted to hear, "Of course not. It was probably just some local kids trying to scare tourists." she gave him one more laugh, ruffled his hair, and put both hands back on the steering wheel. "Now we gotta hurry, mom is probably worried sick."

They drove through the town, with the windows down. Their radio was blasting the end of a song by Motley Crue, when they were stopped at a stop light. The sun had just set by time they had gotten down to the bottom of the valley where the small ocean side town was located. The cool night air rolled in the windows while they waiting for the light to change, bringing a light scent of funnel cakes and cotton candy in with it. Taylor nodded her head along to the soft intro of the new song on the radio; People Are Strange by The Doors. She couldn't help but grin at the irony, and how it perfectly fit with the population of this town. The people here were indeed strange. She suddenly had a great idea.

"Sam, how bout you and I go to the boardwalk tonight? After we unpack a little? We can grab something to eat and ride the roller coaster," she said, "What do ya say, hm?"

"Yeah, alright!" he replied enthusiastically. She had a feeling that Sam wouldn't be as miserable as he'd thought.

Still sitting at the light, Sam and Taylor heard a rumble off in the distance. The sounds of motorcycles. Soon they saw a pack of boys, the ones riding the motorcycles. Taylor only caught a glimpse of them before Sam was urging her to go through the now green traffic light. Three blondes and a brunet. Continuing down the street, she risked a glance in the side view mirror. They all stared at the back of her truck, and though they were too far away for her to make out any details other than the fact that they were male, she couldn't help the small blush that spread across her cheeks. Sam put on a small knowing smile directed at his sister. She ignored him, trying to will her blush away, and resumed her mission to get to the house. They made it all the way through the town, observing all the people; the runaways, the punks, the locals, the tourists. Everybody. They made it to the other side of town, and made their way up the other side of the valley, toward their grandfather's house, which was located at the top of a hill near the edge of a cliff. When they pulled into the drive they saw a familiar petite figure peek out from behind the curtain in the window. Taylor turned off the truck and she and Sam made their way inside.

"Oh, thank goodness! I was getting worried," their mother Lucy said in her soft sweet voice, greeting them at the door. She fretted over them like all good mothers do.

"We're fine, mom. Where's grandpa? I haven't seen him in forever!" Taylor said, looking around the foyer of the house. They'd taken their shoes off and Sam went in search of a TV. The home itself was covered in stuffed animals. It was a large house at that; four stories, if you included the attic and full basement. Taylor suddenly remembered her mom saying grandpa had a taxidermy hobby. But even this was going too far. Dead and stuffed animals lined the walls, covered tables and were shoved back into corners. If a member of PETA were to walk in here now, they would've dropped dead. And then would've been in danger of being stuffed.

"I'm sure he's around here somewhere, sweetheart. He's got Roman with him. Are you hungry? I'll make you something to eat," she told her, leading her into the kitchen.

"I'm not hungry. Did you and Mike already eat?" Taylor asked, curious as to why she wasn't eating as well.

"Michael and I stopped at the cutest little diner at the edge of town. An authentic 50's diner, at that," she said. She didn't seem too happy, though.

"Well, you'll have to show me sometime, all right?" Taylor stated, giving her a slight smile. With her decline into addiction, Taylor had nearly severed all ties with her mother and family. Now that she was better, she was trying her hardest to fix her relationships. It was slowly working, but it would definitely take a while for her own mother to trust her again. At first, Taylor had used drugs as a means of having fun. Then it transformed into a need to use them to be alone. Now that she didn't have them, she just needed alone time. A lot. But she was still trying to repair her burned bridges. To do that, she needed to be with people. Especially her mother. She was a better person than Taylor; if somebody had said half of the things to Taylor that she yelled at her mother, Taylor would never have spoken to them again. She forgave Taylor, though, and she couldn't be any more thankful to her. She let her back into her life, back into her home, and Taylor couldn't say that she would've done the same if she had been in her mother's situation. She truly was one of the better people in the world. Sweet, kind, and caring.

"Oh, dear! I almost forgot. I called grandpa early and asked him to do a favor. Come with me, sweetie," she said, taking her daughter's hand and leading her towards the stairs. They walked up that flight and then another, into a short hallway. It contain a thin door leading to a small linen closet and at the end, the door to the attic. They walked into the attic, and Taylor gasped. "How would you like to stay here, honey? I know the extra space will do you good. You'll even have your own bathroom."

The place was large, open. She saw that there was, indeed, a full bathroom through a door to her right. There was a large bay window with an old cushion, and on the opposite side of the room were French doors, leading out to a small balcony. There was an old, heavy wooden chiffarobe pressed against one wall, made of a dark mahogany. There was a matching bookcase, bureau, desk, and shelves. But the best part was the also matching large king sized bed, that looked like a warm downy cloud that you could sink into on the coldest of nights.

"Mom...I don't even know what to say. This is perfect. Thank you so much!" she exclaimed, grasping her mother into a hug. This was the most physical contact they'd had since Taylor moved back in. Her mother was stunned for a while, arms still hanging at her side. Taylor was about to move away, afraid she had acted out of her mother's comfort zone with her, when she wrapped her arms around Taylor and buried her head in her shoulder. Her short light brown hair tickled Taylor's cheek and neck.

"I'm glad you like it, sweetie," she said, but didn't move away. Her voice cracked, like she was about to cry. "Alright, well go unpack your stuff, okay? Get Sam, I'm sure he'll help you." She walked down the stairs without looking at Taylor, wiping at her face. The teenage girl stood there, still in awe of the room, before she decided that she should get into action if she and Sam were to go to the boardwalk tonight.

She was going to grab Sam when she bumped into grandpa, carrying Roman. "Hey, pops, how you been?" she asked, giving him a hug and taking her littlest brother when he was offered to her. She balanced him on her hip while he gripped the collar of her grey hoodie.

"Just fine, I am. Played dead when your Lucy and Mike got here. Nearly scared them to death!" he said, continuing down the hallway, cackling. Taylor just shook her head and carried on down to the living room.

She set Roman down and got him a few toys to play with. He looked a lot like her. Dark, wavy hair, hazel eyes, and slightly pale skin. Full, plump, pouty lips graced their faces, along with sharp widows' peaks. She had a tiny beauty mark on the left side of her face at the corner of her nose, and he had one near the corner of his eye. They were both a little chunky. He had baby fat, which would fall off soon enough. She had recently tried to gain weight because she had gotten so small and frail during her addiction. Taylor had been strong and, though not on any sports teams, athletic before. During, she had became small, skinny, and weak. She dropped down to about from 130 to 100, and even that was only if she had been wearing a soaking wet sweatshirt. Which, more often than not during her life on the street, was true. She remembered waking up the morning after she had decided to get her life back, in her mom's house and struggling to get herself to the bathroom to wash up. She had looked in the mirror and immediately despised the girl looking back who had been trying to play herself off as the real Taylor. Sunken eyes, pale thin lips and dull, waxy skin was what stared back at her. She was nothing but skin and bones, and the image of herself so broken down did nothing but resolve her decision to get better. After that, her main goal (besides trying to fix relationships she had all but destroyed) was trying to put weight back on. She was around 5'6 and was pushing 155 now, so now she had started working to go back down to 145 and stay there. She decided she would go running tomorrow.

She left the four year old to his own devices, and hunted down Sam. She found him on the second floor in his new room, sorting out his comic books.

"Hey, would you mind helping me bring my stuff in? I wanna get it done so we can still head to the boardwalk tonight," Sam happily agreed and they walked outside, unlocked the trailer and started hauling their belongings inside.

Suitcase after suitcase packed with clothes came through the door, crate after crate filled with vinyl records and a player were carried up the stairs, box after box filled to the brim with new, old, tattered, and barely touched books were placed just inside her bedroom door. They were just bringing in the last of her junk. A boombox, bedclothes and curtains, pillows, toiletries, and a couple small boxes of candles were strewn everywhere.

"Jesus, that took nearly an hour and a half, Taylor! You think mom will still let us go?" Sam said, exhausted, flopping down on his sister's new bed. A small puff of dust rose around him, and he started coughing. She let out an amused sharp laugh, and then sneezed. He let out his own laugh.

"I'm sure she will, but we need to bathe first. There's no way in hell I'm going out on that boardwalk covered in sweat and dust," she stated, placing her suitcases on the bed next to him. She opened them all to reveal the clothes within. She pulled out a black tank top with a tattered hem, light grey skinny jeans with rips beginning to form on the knees, a pair of socks, and fresh undergarments. She left them lying on top of a suitcase. "Go get ready, and then well go!" she shooed Sam out of her bedroom before going out into the hallway where the linen closet was and grabbing a towel. She went back into her room, headed for the bathroom and observed it.

It was about the size of her old room back home, with two skylights side-by-side on the ceiling. Two low windows were lined up next to each other in front of the bath to give the bather a view of the ocean. She decided she would probably need to buy curtains, since the ones already in place were threadbare and moth eaten. Light blue tile went up five feet on the white walls and covered the floor. A claw footed tub sat in the middle of the room, with a grimy old shower curtain. Something else that would need to be bought. Through another doorway was the porcelain toilet and sink with the matching set of chrome handles and faucet, probably both in need of scrubbing and the chrome in need of polishing, but she did not want to venture there tonight. A small mirror could be seen above the sink. In the main part of the bathroom with the tub, a waist high beachwood cabinet stretched across the entire expanse of the wall, a mirror of the same length above it. She walked to the tub to find a new shower head had been installed over it, but she peered inside the tub and was discouraged to find old soap rings. She had also just noticed how filthy dirty the grout in the tile was. She placed her towel on the floor by the tub, and after retrieving her toiletries from the other room, laid those across it. She decided to take a shower in favor of a bath, not wanting to sit in the tub till it was clean.

She stripped off her clothes, and got in the shower. While she showered, she made a mental list of items and cleaning supplies she would need to buy. She shaved, washed, and scrubbed before stepping out. When she nearly slipped in her own puddle of water, having to catch herself on the lip of the tub, she added a bathmat to her list. Walking out of the bathroom, wrapped in her towel, she grabbed the clothes she had laid out. After she dressed, she wrapped her hair up in the towel and ran down the stairs to find her mother.

"Hey, mom, do you care if Sam and I go to the boardwalk tonight? Please?" she asked, finding her in the kitchen, Sam coming in not a moment later, running a towel over his own damp hair. She sat at the kitchen table with a cup of tea and was trying to get Roman to eat his dinner of mashed potatoes and chicken nuggets. When Taylor walked in, the little cherub lost interest in his dinner and grabbed at the air for his older sister to pick him up. She strode around the table and lifted him to her. She planted butterfly kisses over his face and neck, and he giggled. He balanced on her hip naturally and her arms went protectively around him and supported his weight.

"Yeah, mom. Can we go? Please, please, please?" Sam asked excitedly. She gave them doubtful looks, not sure if letting her babies go out was a good idea.

"I don't know...," she said.

"C'mon, mom! Please?" he begged, giving her his best puppy pout. She easily gave in.

"All right, but I'm coming with you. I need to look for a job," she said, satisfied that she might be able to keep an eye on them.

"How many times do I need to tell you? I can look after you all," grandpa said, walking into the kitchen, heading to the fridge.

Ignoring his comment, she asked, "Do you think you'll be able to watch Roman tonight, dad?" He muttered his agreement and took the child from Taylor's arms, walking off to another room.

"Alrighty, then. Everybody nearly ready to go?" she asked, and they both nodded.

"Oh, wait. Sam, why don't you go ask Michael if he'd like to come?" she said. Sam and Taylor both groaned. Michael was not like her or Sam. Michael was daddy's little boy, and the spitting image of him. Tall, dark. Brown curly hair covered his head, and he had piercing blue green eyes. When Taylor started to rebel, Michael wanted to do the same. When he realized that it would cost him the love of their father, he took it all back. In Michael's eyes, our father could do no wrong. He had convinced himself that the divorce was caused by his sister's drug problem, and not their father's cheating problem. Taylor had always felt that it was somewhat her fault, but never all of it. She wasn't the only one at fault in the family's situation. But that's not what Michael thought.

She ran upstairs to her room to finish getting ready while Sam did the chore asked of him. She went back to the bathroom and brushed the snarled tangles out of her lightly damp hair. She flipped it over and shook it out before deciding it looked fine the way it was. Taylor went back out to her room and dug through one of the many boxes to find shoes. She decided that her broken-in DCs would be fine for walking around. Grabbing her keys off her bed, she made my way back downstairs.

She found her mother, Sam and Michael waiting for her by the front door. "C'mon, I don't want to wait any longer," Michael nearly growled out and strode out the door. They all followed and climbed in Taylor's truck. She started the Bronco and they made their way back down to the town. Sam and Michael shared the back bench seat, while their mom sat in the passenger. She looked in the rear view to see that Michael had scooted as far as possible away from Sam, looking afraid he might catch something. Sam looked miserable. She turned on the radio to try and ease the tension, and the song After Forever by Black Sabbath was playing. After a few moments, Michael snapped.

"Why don't you turn off this shit junkie music? It's giving me a headache," he said, and Lucy gasped.

"Michael, watch your language! And don't you dare speak to your sister like that!" she nearly screeched at him.

"Why? You think she might start cutting again? Good, then maybe she'll drop dead and stop ruining our lives," he shot back. She felt her face heating up in embarrassment, and she couldn't help but glance down at the faded scars on the insides of her arms. If she looked closely enough, she could still see the words 'fuck up' and 'worthless' etched into her skin.

She found the closest parking lot she could and parked. Lucy jumped down to let the boys out, but Taylor couldn't break the steel grip her hands had on the steering wheel. Michael stalked off to join the crowd, while their mother nervously glanced back at Taylor and Sam. He told her to leave and that he'd take care of her. As she walked away to start her job hunt, Sam pulled Taylor out of the driver's seat. He closed the door and they leaned against the truck.

"You know he doesn't mean it-," he began, but she cut him off.

"You know as well as I do that he does," she whispered. Sam stepped in front of her, made her lift her gaze from her shoes to his face and wiped away tears that had dared to spill themselves.

"Look, Michael's an ass. He'll always be an ass. You went through a bunch of screwed up stuff and he has no right to talk about you that way. But you can't let him get to you. I don't," he said, embracing his sister. They stood like that for a little while, and she subconsciously recognized the distant roar of motorcycles along with unfamiliar whooping laughter and howls. "Let's not let him ruin our night. C'mon, mom gave me some money to eat and ride the rides."

Taylor gave him her best smile and followed him to the boardwalk.


	2. Chapter 2

Hours had passed and Sam and Taylor were still at the boardwalk. They'd been there for nearly 3 hours. He'd made her forget everything Mike had said to her early that night, and she couldn't be more appreciative. They shared a large basket of fries, a funnel cake, multiple bags of cotton candy, and were coasting on a large sugar high. A wide grin had been plastered on her face nearly the entire time, and her stomach hurt from laughing and screaming. The brother-sister duo rode every ride at least twice, but there was one they had yet to go on. The carousel had always been a favorite of Taylor's as a child, and she couldn't wait to ride it again.

As they stumbled off the Tilt-a-Whirl, vision spinning and tilting in a way that gave props to the name of the ride, she snuck her hand into the crook of Sam's arm, and slowly began to drag him to the carousel. "Woah, I don't think I can go on that right now. All that cotton candy and funnel cake might make a reappearance tonight," he said, clutching his stomach weakly. Now that she observed him, his face did seem to be tinged green.

"Oh, damn. I'm sorry! Why didn't you say something?" she asked, feeling like a horrible older sister. She'd gotten so caught up in her own fun, she didn't even think twice about Sam.

"You were having fun, weren't you?" She nodded her head and he continued, "Well, that was the point."

"You still should've said something, Sam," she scolded him, looking around for something to do that wouldn't bother his stomach too much. "There! How 'bout we go sit by the concert? That's an activity that doesn't involved moving."

"Oh, goody," he said sarcastically. Taylor rolled her eyes and dragged him to a bench near the stage. A large, greasy man was playing the saxophone, and people were headbanging. It looked like her kind of scene. At least, the headbanging was. She wasn't too big a fan of overszed, oily men. But she did feel the urge to get up and move to the rythyms and beats, even if this wasn't the kind of music she'd normally jam to.

They had been sitting for only a few minutes when Sam spoke up, "Hey, you mind if I leave you for a little while? There's a comic book store down the boardwalk a little that I wanna check out."

"Yeah, sure, go ahead. I'll probably just be chilling here if you need me. If we don't meet up, just get to the truck by midnight, kay? I'm sure Mike and mom will be ready to go by then."

He was already on his way by time she had finished speaking, but she shrugged it off. Taylor settled and relaxed on the bench, people watching for about half an hour. Taking another look into the crowd at the concert, she saw Mike chatting up a girl with large, puffy brown hair, like his. Suddenly, she had the urge to be somewhere else. She decided to should get something to drink to calm her sugarcoated nerves. Getting up and standing in a line for about 10 minutes before finally reaching the front, she went to give the cashier her order for a bottle of water when out of nowhere two blonde boys had pushed their way in front of her.

"Three beers, please," the taller one told the cashier with a grin, while the smaller one laughed behind the thumbnail he was currently chewing on.

"Excuse me! Who the hell do you think you are? Move!" Taylor protested strongly, wedging her way between the two of them and pushing them back. "Ignore them. I need a bottle of water," she told the cashier, giving him a look that said If-You-Hesitate-With-My-Order-Because-of-These-Two -Assholes-Then-I-Will-Personally-Kill-You. If there was one thing that stayed constant her entire life, it was a quickly lit temper.

Taking her bottle and throwing a dollar bill down, she stalked away angrily. "Hey! Hey, you! Girly! Don't ignore me!" She could hear the idiots chasing after her, but she simply rolled her eyes, and pressed on before stepping off onto the beach, hoping to have lost them in the crowd. When she was close enough to the water to help drown out some of the boardwalk's noises, she took a seat in the gritty sand and looked out over the ocean. She had completely dazed out, absentmindedly sipping at her water, and didn't even notice the two pairs of footsteps approaching her until the two forms plopped down besides her, sending sand into the air and over her startled form.

"What the fuck? Where do you get off coming over- oh, it's you two. What do you want?" she asked, slightly annoyed that they had interrupted her down time. She looked at the boys who cut in front of her at the concession stand and recognized that something about them seemed eerily familiar.

The tall one had long, blonde, wind swept hair and a larger-than-life grin. His green blue eyes shone in the light coming off the water, and the slightest hint of stubble could be seen in the dim light of the distant boardwalk. He could've been 6'3" easy, with a tall, lanky form that always seemed relaxed. The sweet, heady scent of pot clung to his very skin. It made her stomach churn unpleasantly, and her lungs ache for a burning drag. He wore a old-fashioned tux jacket with tails over a tattered mesh shirt. It was paired with skin tight white demin pants that had seen better days and black, dusty motorcycle boots. A small silver earring adorned him. He couldn't have been older than 18 or 19.

His friend, though, had even longer hair, curled into perfect ringlets that cascaded down his back. His hair was the shade of sweet honey, and Taylor was sure if he stood in the right light, it would have a reddish orange tint. There was a symphony of colorful mismatched patches on his old denim jacket, which was worn over a white wife beater, which, like his friend's pants, had seen better days. He had also wore leather chaps over his jeans. It was all topped it off with motorcycle boots and a dangling earring that nearly matched the tall one's. If she had to guess, she would've said he was about 17. He had the face of a Botticelli angel, with a twist. The angels in the painting were innocent; holy. His face was mischievous, like he knew all the secrets of life and enjoyed watching everybody else fail. His eyes were too wide, too innocent for comfort, and suddenly she felt dread settle in the pit of her stomach. She didn't feel very safe sitting next to either of them. But damn her to hell if she let either one of them know that.

The tall one scooted impossibly closer to her still form and threw an arm around her shoulder, which she promptly shrugged off. "I'm Paul," he said, still grinning, despite her rejection.

She just stared at him for a couple of seconds before replying, "...Congratulations. You know your own name. I'm sure your mom is very proud of you." The small one let out a barking laugh. Paul's grin never faltered. "...so...why did you follow me?"

Paul let out a fake gasp, which sent the small one into a fit of giggles. "You don't recognize us?" Paul said, putting on a horrible fake pout and clutching at his heart. She let out a very unlady-like snort, and the pout was immediately replaced with that grin.

"Wait, were you the guys on the motorcycles earlier today?" the small one confirmed her suspicion with a nod, "How the hell did you even recognize me?"

"We never forget a pretty face," the small one answered with a devilish grin. Though flattering, that still didn't explain how they'd seen her face at night while she was in her truck. Or how they knew it was her sitting out here. But she let it slide for now.

"Hm. Interesting. So what's your name, curly top?" she asked, and this time it was Paul who let out a laugh at the small one's expense.

"Marko," he said, seeming somewhat disgruntled at the nickname she'd given him.

"I'm Taylor. Nice to meet ya'll," she replied lazily. "Now, can you answer my question, and tell me just why you followed me out here?"

"We wanted to know why you wouldn't let us buy you a beer," he said simply.

"Well, first of all, I don't even know you. Normally, a guy would introduce himself before buying a girl a drink. And second, I don't drink...anymore," she added lamely, more as an afterthought.

"Anymore? So you were fun at one point, right?" Paul asked in his mocking tone, and she scoffed at him.

"I don't think I would've called myself fun," she said outloud, not really to him, remembering all the stupid shit she did when she used to drink. They were all silent for a moment, like they had known what had happened to her as if they'd been there. The silence went on, until Marko cut through it.

"What happened?" he asked, and she turned to look at him. He seemed genuinely curious. Suddenly, Taylor felt a great urge to tell them about her secrets, about her past. She wanted so badly to tell them. She wanted someone to know just how scared she was that she would relapse, not being able to deal with sober living. Someone who could understand what that life was like. But she wasn't going to spill her guts to total strangers.

"Don't worry about it, it's over and done with now," she said, officially closing them off to that part of her life. They both stared silently for a moment, before deciding that she wasn't budging on this subject. Paul let out a sigh.

"You're kinda boring, you know that?" he told me, and she laughed.

"Maybe that's what I'm going for. I've had too much excitement in my life. Too much of living on the edge. Maybe a nice boring life is just what I need," she philosophized, still laughing, and playing with the sand around her. This time when Paul placed his arm around her shoulder, she didn't shrug it off.

"Well, that's sad. Because I like you, but I don't like being bored-"

"-he really doesn't," Marko cut in for emphasis.

"-so I'm now making it mine and Marko's mission to make your life exciting again," he told me, and she couldn't help but laugh again.

"Oh, really? Just how do you- Wait. What time is it?" she squeaked. She had gotten so caught up in these boys, she completely forgot about meeting Sam.

"Umm, just after midnight, why?" Paul asked, and she stood up, cussing up a storm. She brushed the sand off herself while they stood and did the same.

"I have to go now," she stated briskly, starting to walk away. "See ya'll later."

"Wait, why do you have to go? It's barely midnight. The night is still young," Paul said after they'd caught up with her, wiggling his eyebrows. She grinned at his goofy personality, but kept walking.

"I just have to go. I'm meeting someone," she said cooly, and their eyes light up mischievously.

"Oooh, someone's got a hot date, eh?" the tall biker spoke, and yet again, she laughed. It was the most she'd laughed in a long time.

"Haha. Funny. Me. Date. That's classic. But no. I have to go to my little brother and make sure he gets home," she told them and they nodded.

"We'll help you look for him," Marko said, as we rounded the corner of a shop, leading to the parking lot where her truck was. Sam wasn't there. How had he known Sam wasn't there?

"Oh, um...alright? He's probably still in the comic book store, so let's check there," she said, and took off again. They followed, a little less enthusiastically. She got to the store and found Sam chatting away with two boys about his age. One of them had a round face with a stony expression, wore a red bandana around his forehead and army fatigues. As Taylor approached, she was taken back by the deep quality of his voice.

The other boy was in a pilot suit, his face a little less rounded than the other's, thought they still both had baby fat. He was a few inches taller than the kid with the red bandana, but spoke just as somberly as he. They both had dark hair and dark complexions. Taylor pegged them as brothers.

She strode up to Sam quickly, "Sam, you weren't at the truck. I got worried."

"Oh, sorry, Tay. I got caught up talking with these guys. This is Alan and Edgar Frog. Guys, this is my sister, Taylor," he spoke, introducing us. She granted them a small smile and a wave, but all she got in return was twin nods of the head. They looked at her strangely.

"Those two guys your friends?" the deep voiced child, whom she guessed was Edgar, spoke. She turned to see Marko and Paul standing outside of the shop, talking. They looked up and gave her grins. She stuck her tongue out at them, and turned back to the boys at hand.

"Eh, I guess. I just met them, so...," she trailed off, giving a noncommittal shrug. She was strangely amused when they turned their backs to whisper with one another. She sent Sam a look but he was checking out a comic with a picture of a vampire on in. Since when did Sam like horror comics?

"Taylor, you don't have to stay here. I'll come to the truck in a few minutes, I swear," Sam said, not even looking up from the comic, but his sister nodded. Walking back to the truck, the two biker boys followed.

"So that was your little brother? You guys don't look anything alike," Marko stated. She nodded in approval at his statement.

"Sam looks like my mom. My older brother, Michael, is the spitting image of my dad. Tall, dark, and an asshole. My baby brother Roman and I look like my mom's mom," she explained, arriving at her Bronco.

"Taylor, is that you, sweetie?" Taylor's heart froze at the tinkling voice of her mother. She was stepping off the boardwalk and walking over to the truck. "Who are your friends, dear?" she asked, her voice wary. Every mother's dream; seeing her only daughter with two teenage bikers.

"This is Marko," she told her mother, indicating the small one, "and this is Paul," she said, motioning to the tall one. "They were just leaving," she said, and jerked her head to tell them to leave. Thankfully, they got the picture.

"See ya, girly," Paul said with a little wink, Marko gave a little wave, and they bounded off, back into the sea of people on the boardwalk.

"Mom, before you-," Taylor began.

"Taylor, sweetie, why can't you have normal friends? It's boys like those that get you in trouble. Don't you remember Preston?" she asked. Her body grew rigid, and her hands clenched tightly, making fists. Of course she remembered him.

"Yeah, mom, I do. How could I forget the boy who nearly ruined my life?" Taylor gritted out, frustrated with her mother for bringing him up. Preston had been her "boyfriend" when she was 13. Or at least, the tween version of a boyfriend. He was two years older than her, and she actually believed he liked her. He held her hand in front of his friends, he gave her goodnight kisses, called her before he went to bed. When he told her he loved her, by God, she thought they would be together forever. But when she said the words back, everything changed. He pressured her into intimacy, told her that it was what people who loved each other did. She believed him. He made her hangout with his friends, made her try the things they were trying. Experimenting with pot, alcohol, inhalants found in garages. She didn't want him to think of her as a stupid little kid, so she did what he told her to do.

The alcohol hadn't been a problem though. Her own father had urged her to try it before on multiple occasions when mother dearest was out visiting friends. Taylor had never told her that, though, or anybody else. How could she? To tell her mother that she hadn't protected her from her own father would've ripped her heart out.

"I know this move has been tough, and you want to make friends here, but think about who you're spending time with, honey," she murmured to her only daughter, "I don't want to see you go down the same path."

Taylor knew she meant well, but like every other teenager in the world, she was frustrated that her own mother didn't trust her judge of character. She knew she had made mistakes before, but it wasn't like she was committing these boys to be her friends for life.

So she sucked it up, and told her mom what she wanted to hear, "I know you're worried about me, but I won't let myself go through that again. If I think anything is off, I promise, I'll get out immediately."

She smiled, and Sam popped up beside her, making his sister jump. Michael walked out of the crowd, and to looked even angrier now than when he left, and she wondered if it had anything to do with that puffy haired girl she'd seen him with earlier. He wasted no time in climbing in and they were all silent on the drive home. Pulling into the drive, Taylor rolled all the windows back up, turned off the truck and they all made their way inside. She trudged her way up the stairs, suddenly exhausted. Not bothering to turn the lights on as she walked into her new room, she kicked her shoes off. Pushing the suitcases off the dusty bed with a loud thunk, she climbed on, sans blanket, pillow, or sheets. She was out in a matter of minutes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Everything I have to say will be at the bottom! Thanks for reading. R&R, please!**

* * *

_There she was, sitting in the bathroom with a little baggy and a razor, while her family was sitting outside enjoying Thanksgiving dinner. This was so fucked up. But she did it anyways._

_She cut another line on the toilet lid and didn't waste any time inhaling it through her nose. She immediately felt herself relax, and felt a daze take over. It was rushing around her brain, making her head spin, and spin, spin, spinspinspinspinspinspin...she needed it to stop. She pulled out a little sample bottle of JD, courtesy of the liquor store down the street. How kind of them to give it to her for free. Even if they didn't know it. She downed the mini bottle of whiskey in a large gulp, and her head only felt lighter. But it had stopped the spinning, like she knew it would._

_She promised herself that she would only do one line, but if she did one, what was the harm in doing a few more? She cut a few more lines and snorted. She felt like she was flying._

_She heard distant voices outside the door. The voices of her 'family'. As if. None of them knew her, not that they'd ever want to. She wasn't what they wanted her to be, the perfect little girl they wanted, but daddy had settled for her and oh my god did mommy know I bet she did she just doesn't care why would she you're a worthless bitch so ungrateful with everything given to you look at you doing coke on Thanksgiving your family is right out side what are you doing you're horrible-_

_And suddenly she wasn't flying anymore. She wasn't even hydrated enough for the tears to form in her eyes. She collapse the short distance to the floor and reveled in the feeling of ice cold tile pressed to her face._

_She felt like shit. So she did what she thought would make it better. She grabbed the blade she'd used to cut the coke with and started carving her troubles into her own flesh. When she was done, the angry red cuts on her forearm had branded her 'worthless'. She dry sobbed, because she knew it to be true._

_Her mom tried to love her, give her the best she could, and she let her down god she must hate me now I'm so stupid why did I even start this maybe if I do one more line it'll all go away I hope it all goes away I don't wanna do this anymore oh please I'm so scared..._

_The steps coming down the hallway to the bathroom in our one story home stopped her thoughts. "Taylor, is everything okay? You've been in there an awfully long time, sweetie," she heard the sweet, concerned voice of her mother call out._

_Taylor tried to answer her, but her voice wasn't working. She heard the sound of choking, but realized it was just herself. "Taylor? Honey, are you okay? Open the door, honey! Open the door!" she was in a panic. And so was Taylor._

_She hurriedly stuffed the razor in the baggy and jammed it down the side of her pant leg. Luckily, she had lost so must weight, her old pair of jeans were loose enough so there was enoguh room that it wouldn't look odd. She stood up from her spot on the floor by the toilet and stood over the sink. She was sweating and shaking like crazy. Blood was still running freely down the inside of her arm. She wrapped the bathroom hand towel around it and shoved her jacket back on. She would have to burn the towel later, she decided. She washed her face and ran her fingers through her knotted hair and unlocked the door and it opened-_

Taylor sat up in her bed with a gasp, sweating and trembling. Her breathing was labored, and she couldn't seem to catch my breath. She remembered that night with quite some clarity. She was 15 and it was Thanksgiving. Her mother had invited her father's parent over for dinner. She was going through her 'fuck you, fuck everything' phase, and when they pulled into the driveway, she could already smell the disapproval. Dinner droned on like planned, and when Taylor couldn't stand to listen to anymore of their criticism of her, she excused herself to go to the restroom. Eating had no appeal to her then anyways. She did lines, freaked, almost got caught, but in the end, she had managed to find a way out. An 'I'm sorry, mom. I don't feel so well. I might have the flu' and she was easily left off the hook. Lucy sent her to her room to rest, and let her be. She had immediately shucked the jacket and unwrapped the towel, and fixed herself up. She had taken to keeping gauze and anti-bacterial ointment in her room for situations like those.

She threw the blanket off, which her mother must have put on her sometime in the night, and got off the bed, still breathing heavily. She opened the windows and let a small breeze sooth her heated skin, and went to the doors to her balcony to let fresh air in. A musty smell had taken over since she'd fallen asleep. The sun was on the rise, so it must've been early morning. She decided the was no use in going back to sleep, only to face the possibility of more unwanted memories. So she stayed up. She found paper and a pencil and wrote down the mental list of item she had made the day before.

For lack of something better to do, she wiped down the furniture in her room with damp towels, and started putting her clothes away. She set up her record player and vinyls in one corner of the room on a bureau. The bookshelf was in the other. Books overflowed from the shelves when she was closed to finished, so some were stacked on the ground. She put her pillows, blankets and sheet on the bed, and then placed her many candles all around the room. One thing she found that helped her get through withdraw were scents. They took her back mentally to better times in life when psychically, she was in excruciating pain. Hazelnut, vanilla, lemon, orange, pumpkin, green tea...they took her back to baking with her beloved grandmother in the kitchen that grandpa has designed especially for her before she died. Cotton candy, and powdered sugar took her back to walking the boardwalk with her mom. Rain and the ocean took her back to fishing with her grandpa on the old pier down through the woods. There was nothing that brought back memories like scents.

The sun had risen, and she heard movement downstairs in the kitchen. Probably her mom, starting breakfast. After having worked so early in the morning and having gone out last night, she was exhausted. Taylor took a quick shower, got dresses in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, dug a hair tie out of one of the bags she had yet to unpack, put my hair up in a messy bun, and crawled back into bed. Hopefully, without dreams.

She woke up again a little past noon, her mom rapping on the door briskly. "Taylor, are you up? It's 12:10, sweetie. I think it's time for you to wake up..." she spoke, her voice slightly muffled by the door.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm up, I'm wake," Taylor answered back groggily. Her hair had fallen out of the bun, and was spread out everywhere, tangled within itself. Her hair wasn't very long; it hung just below her shoulder blades, but it was thick and would probably take her the better part of the afternoon to brush out. "Damn it...," she muttered, throwing the hair that was in her face behind herself as she sat up.

"What did you say, honey?" She asked, confused.

'Nothing!" she quickly replied, regaining her wits and jumping out of bed to run to the door. She opened it to reveal Lucy. She stood straight to her 5'4 height, and had a familiar smile on her face. "Hey, mom, what's up, how are you?" Taylor asked in a rush. Her mother hated it if they slept in.

"Were you still sleeping, honey?" she asked, knowing very well the answer.

"No, I was just...cleaning, and putting away my stuff...you know, settling in," she lied, and gave her mother a smile, stepping back to show her the almost put together room.

"Mmmhmm. I'm sure," she said and grinned. "Alright, well, I'm making you a sandwich, so come downstairs. You need to eat something," she said, leaving no room for arguments. She walked back down the stairs, and left her to her own devices.

It took Taylor a literal 10 minutes to brush out the mess that was her hair, put it back up and wash her face. She bounded down the stairs and to the kitchen. Her mother sat with Roman, eating lunch. He looked to his big sister and gave her a bright smile that she couldn't help returning. About 5 years ago, Lucy had had doubts about the stability of her marriage to her husband. Taylor guessed she thought she could fix it by having another child, but it seemed to make it worse. When Roman was born, her dad didn't really want anything to do with him. He basically ignored the child, but she didn't think she could love him anymore than she already did. Taylor treated him as if he were her own.

She ate her sandwich quietly at the table with them, occasionally making faces at Roman that would send him into a fit of giggles.

"Mom, I'm gonna go for a run. Is that okay?" she asked. Lucy had always had this thing about wanting to know where her children were and what they were doing.

"Where?" she asked. There wasn't really any roads where anybody could just jog. The house was set back in the woods, and the only way to get from the house to the town was on a gravel path.

"Well, I was thinking that old trail that leads to the dock. You know the one. Where grandpa used to take us fishing?" she said. There was an old dirt path that lead down through the woods to a small cove. Grandpa had built a pier in it about 40 or 45 years ago. The trail itself was about a mile and a half long, and the pier stuck out a good 30 feet into the water. When they were little, Grandpa took them down to the pier and they all fished, or played in the water on the small beach around the pier. They caught minord with their nets, searched for sand crabs, made sand castles with each other. That was back when Michael and Taylor didn't even know the meaning of the words 'addiction', 'infedility', or 'divorce'. Those were just things that didn't exist in their perfect, protected little world. That was back when they could actually tolerate each other when he wasn't pulling her hair, or when she wasn't trying to trip him up. It was back when Sam was just a gurgling baby in a stroller and it was before their dad had decided he was a pedophile.

"Sweetie, I'm sure that dock is nearly decomposed by now. I don't want you going on it," Lucy told her sternly.

"No! Mom, I wasn't planning on going out on it. I just wanna see it. I just wanna get out of this house and do something," she pleaded, "Please, mom?"

Lucy sighed, but gave in. "Fine, but be back by dark. I don't want to organize a search party for you," she joked. Taylor thanked her and kissed her cheek before returning to her room. She opted for more appropriate jogging apparel. A camisole over a sports bra, and boy's athletic shorts. She put on running shoes and was out the backdoor before you could say, "Run, Forrest, run!"

She wished she could say that she just kept running like Forrest Gump, but the truth was, Taylor was sweating and out of breath at about half a mile. Downhill. She even laid down on a fallen tree to try and breathe easier. She definitely needed to start exercising more. After her breath was reduced to a light panting, she got back up and chose to walk the rest. When she could smell the ocean, she walked a little faster. Soon, Taylor reached the small beach at the cove. She could see the pier about 50 feet to the left of the mouth of the trail like it has always been. She walked over to it, and inspected it. There were actually a few planks missing, some were so rotted that it look as if you so much as set your foot on it, it would crumble into the water beneath. But it looked as if there were a majority of sound boards. Against her own and her mother's better judgment, she took the first step onto the dock.

And she did not fall through. Taylor carefully made my way to the end of the dock, taking care to step over small holes and skip the sagging boards, and sat down. Taking her shoes off, she put her feet over the side and the water barely brushed her toes. Low tide, she decided then. If not for the lack of water at her feet, then all the sea shells left by the receding water to be bleached by the sun. She laid back with her arms spread out and watched the clouds roll by. Taylor didn't know when exactly she finally dozed off, but when she woke up, the last bit of sun had just disappeared below the horizon. She got up quickly and made her way back to shore using the remnants of light left in the sky and hurried her way back down the trail.

She walked through the woods, listening to the natural sounds. Leaves rustled, small animals making their way home to rest for the night, others just waking. She heard owls hoot and the bats above screeching. They'd had bats in Georgia. During the summer they would go to her neighbor's pool and swim until it got dark. When the sun started to go down, the bats would come out. They'd giggle as their parents told then to get out, but they were preoccupied with the way the bats had swooped down to drink the pool water.

Taylor arrived at the backdoor of her house and saw her mother in the kitchen. She took a breath and walked in, preparing herself for an onslaught of 'where were you?'s and 'I was worried sick'. She spoke first, trying to easy the tension that she knew to was coming, "Hey mom, I'm home. Sorry about being late. I was halfway up the trail before I realized I left my cami down by the beach. I just took it off because I needed something to sit on on the beach," she lied easily.

"No worries, honey," she said, taking her daughter by surprise. She continued on walking to her room when her mom spoke again, "Sweetie, I have a favor to ask you. Would you mind taking Sam to the boardwalk? He really wants to go. He made friends last night," she informed her, glowing with pride at her boy for making friends so quick, and Tayor wondered why she couldn't be happy for her as well, "and he wants to go hang out with them."

"Uh, yeah, I guess. I just need to shower and everything, though," she said. Taylor really didn't mind going to the boardwalk. If she was being honest with herself, she adamantly wondered if Paul and Marko would be there.

"Thank you, dear. I'll go tell him now," she said, and Taylor made her way to her room to get ready. She showered and brushed her teeth, still intensely grossed out by the scum in the tub and sink. She even put her toothbrush on the bedside table rather than have it lay by the sink. She opened the bureau and pulled out an old black Motley Crue t-shirt. It got paired with a light pair of ripped jeans from the dresser and a pair of original converse that had been found hiding under the bed. She ran the towel over her hair one more time before brushing it out, placing it all over her left shoulder. Taylor galloped down the stairs and found Sam waiting for her by the door. They made their way to the truck and took off down the road.

"Mom said to be home by 2," he informed. Taylor's brows furrow in confusion. Her mother never would have let her stay out that late when she was that age.

"'Kay. So you're going to hang out with those guys from the comic store?" she asked, trying to make conversation. Taylor went slow down the gravel road to the town, not wanting to hit an animal if anything were to jump out. One of her headlights was dim; she would need to replace them soon.

"Uh, yeah. Why?" he said defensively.

"Nothing, nothing. They just seemed a little...odd. What was up with the whole whispering deal?" she asked, reminded of their strange display.

"Don't worry about it. They're pretty cool, but they are a little odd. They believe in vampires and all this crazy stuff. They've convinced themselves that those guys you were with are vampires. Apparently, they run with two other guys; some Indian-looking guy and one with a blonde mullet. Anyways, they basically terrorize the town. Especially the boardwalk. Edger said it's almost like they run the place," Sam continued, "and everyone is afraid of them. They call themselves the Lost Boys, and they rival this other gang. The Surf Nazis, I think. Well, they wanted me to tell you to stay away from them."

Taylor sat in stunned silence. "Wow," she said. "You got all of that in an hour and a half?"

"Edgar and Alan like to gossip," he explained with a shrug. They sat quietly for the rest of the ride, the only sound being the radio and engine. She pulled into the same parking lot they had the night before and parked. They got out and walked over to the comic book store where Alan was behind the counter.

Taylor looked side ways at Sam and he said, "They run the place. Their parents are kinda all drugged out, and can't do anything right. They're basically worthless." Her heart sank at his words. She guessed Sam saw something on her face that worried him, because a second later he was speaking again. "Hey, I didn't mean anything by that. You're clean now. You're sober, and you're gonna stay that way. Their parents are selfish. They don't even want to try and get off drugs to help out their kids..."

"I know, Sam. Look, I'll see you later-," she started, turning to walk away from the entrance to the comic store. She wanted to get away from them. Alan saw Sam and came around to greet him.

"Hey, wait a minute!" she heard, and turn back around to face the two.

"Yeah?"

Alan look to Sam, then Taylor, and then back to Sam. "Did you tell her?" he asked, as she walked back, annoyed, to finish the conversation.

"Yeah," Sam said, not elaborating.

"So what do you think?" Alan asked her. What were they even talking about?

"About what?" she asked, feeling stupid.

Alan gave her a look. "About the vampires?" he said. It was hard the repress the laughter, but somehow she managed.

"Well, I don't really have an opinion on it...but...I guess I'll keep a look out for anything strange that happens," Taylor assured the dark haired teen, hoping to end the ridiculous conversation and leave. "Look, I'd love to hang around for another couple of hours, but it just isn't really that appealing to me. Sam, it's 9 o'clock now. Be at the truck by 1:45 or I'm leaving."

Alan had an expression on his face that she couldn't understand, and didn't want to. She just wanted to leave. So she walked (speed walked, actually) out of the comic store and left them to do what they wanted. She walked around the boardwalk for a little while. Taylor even stood at the edge of the crowd at the concert and swayed to the music, but when the sweet scent of pot wafted over her, she had to leave. She took a seat in a less crowded part of the boardwalk, where the sit-and-eat restaurants were, and hoped that the urge to go back and find the pot didn't kill her. But it only got worse, and her hands started shaking. She took deep breaths, in and out, to try and calm herself, and even sat on her own hands to keep them from shaking.

"What are you doing, sitting here all alone?" a familiar voice asked from behind her. She jumped up and moved forward, tripping and falling off the bench. She looked up to see Paul smiling and Marko grinning like the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland.

"...assholes...," she muttered under her breath, but stayed in her seated position on the floor. Their faces changed from amused to confused.

"You okay?" Marko asked, chewing on his thumbnail.

"Not really. You two scared the shit outta me!" Taylor told them, but they still worried.

"You're all flushed because we scared you?" Paul asked.

"Well, kinda. Yes. Sorta. This is partially your fault," she explained from her spot on the ground as she waved her hands over her obviously frightened body. Paul walked out from the back of the bench to her and held out his hands. She took it, still shaking. He pulled her up without difficulty and she was surprised at the temperature of his skin. Not hot, not cold, but it was like he didn't have a temperature at all. Of course he did, but it was like room temperature. It wasn't different from the temperature around him. Marko joined them not a moment later.

"What's the other part?" Marko asked, apparently sticking with short questions tonight.

"It's not important-," she began, but Paul cut me off.

"Obviously, if it's got you all wound up like this, it's important," he said, real concern on his face.

"Why do you even care? You just met me last night," Taylor spoke loudly, going on the defensive.

"I already told you that we liked you. You're boring, but you're cool," he said, and she couldn't help the little smile that graced her face, "and like it or not, we're friends now!" And she couldn't help but laugh at that. Paul was just one of those people, she realized; you could be in the worst mood of your life, but one word uttered from him could put a grin on your face wider than Texas. He always seemed to be happy, and it was infectious.

She sighed, "You really want to know?" and Marko answered with a simple 'yes'.

"Well, I was at that concert down the boardwalk and I smelled pot. I kind of freaked out. I used to be really into drugs, so it was kinda hard for me to be around that," she said, voice low. They were silent for a moment. Tension grew and Taylor felt the urge to walk away but the silence was cut through by Marko's voice.

"Well, we're here now, so we aren't going to let you do anything you'll regret, right, Paul?" Marko spoke.

"Right!" Paul saluted with a grin, but there was something in his eyes other than happiness. Understanding. It made her wonder.

"So, now the question is: what ever shall we do tonight?" Marko said with a mischievous smile. What was she getting herself into?

So, for anybody that's reading this, reviews would be nice. Any constructive criticism at all, actually.

If you all have suggestions, they'd be appreciated. This is one of my first stories, so I'm worried about whether or not I'm making the story move fast enough or not enough, or even too fast. Should I add more details or less? Introduce the characters faster? Feedback, please.


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